And just as I was about to step in, it stabbed me like the flickering knife on Cronus's screen. She was a wonderful girl, and I was falling for her, and in seven to twelve days—no, nearer five to ten days, now—she was going to be murdered.
"Something wrong?" the driver said.
I flashed my credentials. "Police Headquarters," I said. "Use the emergency altitude."
Walker was crouched in front of Cronus, perspiring, as usual, but looking infinitely more tired. No matter what time I came in, he always seemed to be there, or there was a note saying he was down in his lab in the sub-basement.
"I haven't found it again," he said.
"That's all right. We can manage with what we have."
He frowned irritably. "It's important, confound it. This is just an experimental model, and it's maddeningly inefficient. With money and research facilities, we could produce one that would really work, but we can't get that kind of support by predicting a few piddling holdups. But a murder, now—that would make someone sit up and take notice."
"Stop worrying about your dratted Cronus," I snapped. "I don't give a damn about that pile of junk. There's a girl's life to be saved."
It was unfair, but he didn't object. "Yes, of course," he said. "The girl's life—but if I can't get more information...."